


Echoes

by ariel2me



Series: Inspired by Fire & Blood [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 11:20:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16994052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariel2me/pseuds/ariel2me
Summary: Munkun says the prince did not wish to wed until the war was over, whilst Mushroom claims Jacaerys was already married to Sara Snow, the mysterious bastard girl from Winterfell. (Fire & Blood)Jon Snow and Robb Stark discussing the story of the wolf maid and her prince.





	Echoes

_But we turn to Mushroom to find the tales other chronicles omit, nor does he fail us now. His account introduces a young maiden, or “wolf girl” as he dubs her, with the name of Sara Snow. So smitten was Prince Jacaerys with this creature, a bastard daughter of the late Lord Rickon Stark, that he lay with her of a night. On learning that his guest had claimed the maidenhead of his bastard sister, Lord Cregan became most wroth, and only softened when Sara Snow told him that the prince had taken her for his wife. They had spoken their vows in Winterfell’s own godswood before a heart tree, and only then had she given herself to him, wrapped in furs amidst the snows as the old gods looked on. (Fire & Blood)_

**___________________________**

Old Nan’s story ended the same way each time, with the death of Prince Jacaerys in a great battle at sea.

“What happened to Sara Snow after that?” either Jon or Robb would always ask, hoping that Old Nan would continue the story past the death of the ill-fated prince, who, being half-Targaryen and half-Velaryon, captured their interest and their imagination far less deeply than the wolf maiden in Winterfell.  

Old Nan’s usual reply would be half-whispered in a hushed, enigmatic tone. “No one knows,” she would say. “No one knows what fate befell Sara Snow after the death of her beloved prince. It remains a mystery to this day.”  

This time, however, Old Nan replied in a blunt and matter-of-fact tone, “Sara Snow married some minor lordling or other, I expect, or one of her brother’s men-at-arms. And in time, she forgot all about her dead prince. Life must go on, after all.”

“But she must have mourned him greatly,” Robb objected, finding  _this_  ending not to his liking. “She would not have forgotten her prince so easily, I’m sure,” he added, staring at Old Nan with imploring eyes.

The Old Nan who stared back at Robb looked like she had shed her storyteller’s face to wear a different face, one that Jon and Robb were not as familiar with. “Perpetual mourning does a woman no good, no good at all. It doesn’t put food on the table, to start with,” Old Nan said, and for a brief moment, Jon wondered if the old woman was thinking less of Sara Snow and more of her own experience.

“Perhaps Sara Snow threw herself from a tower,” Jon mused later, as he and Robb were taking a break after sparring with their swords in the practice yard.

Robb threw his half-brother a glance. Jon added, defensively, “It’s possible. Women in songs and stories are always throwing themselves from towers out of grief, and they are always described as beautiful, or tragic, or tragically beautiful, or beautifully tragic.”

“But this is not a  _story_ story,” Robb objected. “It is a  _true_ story, Old Nan said, about the bastard half-sister of our ancestor Cregan Stark.”

“Maester Luwin doesn’t think so,” Jon reminded Robb. “Maester Luwin said there is no written record in any reputable source either in the Citadel or in Winterfell which shows Lord Cregan ever having a bastard half-sister named Sara Snow, let alone any evidence from a reputable source proving that she was married to Prince Jacaerys.”

After Jon and Robb came to Maester Luwin asking about the fate of the wolf maiden from Old Nan’s story who had married a prince, the maester had shown them a book showing the lineage of House Stark after Aegon’s Conquest, which began with Torrhen Stark, the King who Knelt, and ended with their grandsire Lord Rickard. Sara Snow, or any other bastard half-sister of Cregan Stark, did not appear in that lineage.

“But if she was a bastard, would she even appear in the Stark lineage?” Jon had questioned Maester Luwin at the time.

“She would, if she had been acknowledged by Lord Rickon as his daughter. If, as the story claimed, she was living in Winterfell and was known to be Lord Cregan’s bastard half-sister, then she must have been acknowledged by Lord Rickon before his death. The name of her mother, if it was known, and her own name, would be linked to Lord Rickon with dashed lines in the lineage.”

“I know that,” Jon said swiftly, turning his face away from the book. “You have taught us that already, Maester,” he muttered under his breath.

The thin, dashed lines were for bastards, and the thick, unbroken lines were for trueborn children. Jon knew it by heart,  _felt_  it by heart.  

“As you can see,” Maester Luwin continued, “there is no mention of Sara Snow in this lineage, or in any of the papers and letters left behind by Lord Cregan. It is far more likely that she is a romantic figure rising from the imagination of singers and storytellers, not a true historical figure of flesh and blood.”

But bastards could so easily be erased from historical records, if they became a shameful inconvenience, or an inconvenient shame. Jon did not share this thought with Maester Luwin at the time, or with Robb at any time.

“I still think there is something to the story,” Robb said, bringing Jon back to the present. “Why would anyone make it up?”

Jon shrugged. “Perhaps she  _did_  exist. Perhaps they  _did_  lie together, this wolf maiden and her prince. And maybe they were indeed in love, who knows? But I really doubt that he would have wed her.”

“Why do you doubt it?” asked Robb.

Jon stared at Robb with disbelief. “Because she’s a bastard. And he’s a prince.” What other reason did Robb need? Was he truly so ignorant of the ways of the world, or merely pretending to be?

 _You know enough to say that I could never be the Lord of Winterfell because I am bastard-born,_ thought Jon.

The truth was, deep down, Jon could not envision this Sara Snow – another bastard in Winterfell like Jon himself – being so ignorant of the ways of the world. And knowing the ways of the world, knowing how the world treated and mistreated bastards, she would not have wished to be entangled with a prince, emotionally  _or_  sexually. She would have known better, Jon thought. She would have known that it could only end with tears and sorrow for herself, that it could only end with yet another bastard being discarded like unwanted baggage.  

“I think it happened the other way around,” said Robb.

“What do you mean, the other way around?”

“Old Nan said that the prince married Sara Snow in the godswood before taking her maidenhead. Perhaps … perhaps he took her maidenhead first, and  _then_ he married her.”

“What sense does that make? If he married her because he wanted to lie with her, then there was no need to marry her at all if she had already allowed him to lie with her before they were married.”

“There  _was_  a need,” Robb insisted. “A need to protect and preserve her honor.”

“Or to protect  _himself_  from her brother’s wrath,” Jon said, more cynically. Robb gave him that  _look_ , the look he often gave Jon when he thought that Jon was being incomprehensibly or needlessly harsh about something.

Jon suppressed a sigh and a groan. Robb did not understand. Why would he? How could he? He could never understand what growing up as a bastard and growing up feeling like you were an unwanted presence in the only home you had ever known could do to a person’s view of life and of the world. They looked at the same sky, and more often than not, Robb’s gaze would be focused on all the beautiful birds in flight, while Jon’s eyes would be searching the clouds for the first sign of rain or thunder.

“The prince was already betrothed, to his own cousin, if I recall our lessons correctly. He should not have lain with Sara Snow at all,” Jon said, vehemently. “He dishonored  _two_  women with his reckless action.”

Jon’s own father had lain with another woman after he was already wed to Lady Catelyn. If Lord Eddard had not done so, Jon would not exist, and he would not now be the bastard in Winterfell. He would not wish himself out of existence, no matter how painful that existence could feel to him most of the times. But he had often wondered if Lady Catelyn would have felt differently about him, if he had been born of a relationship that Lord Eddard had with another woman  _before_  he was a married man. He wondered if Lady Catelyn would have treated him differently, if his presence in Winterfell was not a constant reminder of her husband’s betrayal of their marriage vows.

 _She would not love you either, in that situation,_ mocked his own voice in his head.

 _I know that! I know that very well indeed. But perhaps she would not despise me as much_.  

Robb was still pondering the question of Sara Snow’s prince and his motives. “I don’t think Prince Jacaerys meant to dishonor either Sara or his betrothed. Perhaps the situation was … unforeseen and unexpected. Perhaps it came out of his need to be comforted.”

Jon scoffed at the notion. “His need to be comforted? Comforted for what? He was a  _prince_ , and the heir to the Iron Throne besides. What did he have to be sad about? Why would he need any comforting?”

After a pause to recall their lessons, Robb replied, “His brother Prince Lucerys died in a battle with Prince Aemond over Shipbreaker Bay. Perhaps Prince Jacaerys received the news of his brother’s death while he was in Winterfell, and he was overwhelmed with grief and sorrow.”

“He could have gone to Lord Cregan for comfort. Lord Cregan had lost a younger brother too, many years earlier, and knew what it was like to grieve for a dead brother.”

“Perhaps Prince Jacaerys needed the comfort of a woman.”

Jon stared at Robb. “What do you know about the comfort of a woman?”

Robb’s face turned bright red, before he tried to laugh it off with a shrug. “Nothing. I know nothing about a woman’s comfort. It’s only a speculation. Everything Maester Luwin has taught us about Queen Rhaenyra’s eldest son shows him to be a good and honorable man. It seems unlikely that he would impulsively dishonor two women out of whim or caprice,” said Robb, earnestly.  

Jon was not convinced by Robb’s reasoning, but he tried his best not to show his disbelief so flagrantly. Robb at his most sincere and earnest would feel deeply hurt by the open display of skepticism or any hint of mockery from his siblings. Jon knew this well from experience.    

Instead, he added his own speculation, “What if … what if there was a child?”

“A child? Whose child?”

“Sara Snow’s child with Prince Jacaerys.  _If_  she actually existed, and  _if_  the prince had really taken her maidenhead, then might there not be a child?”

“I doubt it,” said Robb. “If they were married –“

“They might not be married.”

“If he had indeed taken her maidenhead, then he would certainly marry her,” Robb insisted. “If there  _was_  a child from this marriage, then this child would have been a potential claimant to the Iron Throne, as the trueborn child of Prince Jacaerys. Why would Lord Cregan keep this child’s existence a secret? He marched to King’s Landing with a great host during the Dance, and even served as Hand of the King for a day. There was never any mention of this supposed child.”

“And how many claimants to the Iron Throne perished during the Dance? Why would Lord Cregan endanger this child’s life by revealing his or her existence?” Jon pointed out.

“So what happened to this child?” Robb asked.

Jon shrugged. “Only the gods know. Nothing good, I expect.” If the marriage between Sara Snow and Prince Jacaerys was conducted in secret, with no other witnesses present other than the heart tree and the old gods, the child would most likely bear the stain of illegitimacy for all its life.

“Perhaps he or she was given to foster with another lord,” Robb answered his own question. “Lord Cregan would certainly not risk keeping the child in Winterfell.”

Jon nodded in agreement. “That would be  _far_  too risky, especially if there were already rumors floating around about the relationship between Prince Jacaerys and Sara Snow.” After a pause, he added, wistfully, “Perhaps Sara Snow married another man after the prince’s death, and took this child with her to her new husband’s home.”

Robb looked at Jon with sadness and sympathy blazing from his eyes. “That rarely happens, as you know,” he said, very gently. “The new husband would not –“

“– would not want this child around to remind him that he had wed the leavings of another man. I know. I know that well enough,” Jon said, bitterly.

Was that why his own mother had not taken him with her? His father would not even tell Jon if she was dead or still alive, let alone  _who_  she was. Did she weep, when she handed over her babe to Eddard Stark? Did she curse him, or thank him, or both? Perhaps she wed a great lord afterwards, and secretly kept track of Jon’s progress at Winterfell over the years. Perhaps she made Lord Eddard promise that he would keep their son by his side at Winterfell, always. Perhaps –

 _Stop it, Snow! Enough!_ Jon angrily snapped at himself.

Those were foolish dreams, all of them. Foolish, fatuous and pointless dreams. He should know better. He  _did_  know better.

Robb wanted to speculate further about this possible child of Sara Snow and Prince Jacaerys, but Jon wanted to hear no more of the subject. He picked up his sword and challenged Robb, “Show me your best move, Stark. I wager I could cut you down with two strokes of my sword.”

Grinning, Robb replied, as he was picking up his own sword, “I wager you could not, Snow.”


End file.
